


Boxed In

by SunflowerSpectre



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Mentions of Masturbation, Public Sex, Rough Kissing, Semi-Public Sex, Single Mom OC, Single Parents, Smut, jerking off
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:42:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29189493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSpectre/pseuds/SunflowerSpectre
Summary: Paige Miller, single mom and illegal ring fighter, has a specific routine of going to the twenty-four hour gym in the worst side of the neighborhood at unholy hours. It saves her the trouble of interacting with people until one night - she has company.Mix of 2012 cartoon and 2007 movieRaphael x OC
Relationships: Raphael (TMNT)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. Prologue

Paige Miller can feel the sweat dripping down her brow, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she takes in short, controlling breathes. She breathes out for each time that her fist hits the bag. She breathes in for each time she brings in her elbow, close to her side and firm, ready to spring. She keeps her foot work light, always moving.  _ Never give anyone a chance to hit you,  _ she repeats in her head like a mantra, heavy music blaring in her ears. 

The twenty-four gym is nearly empty at this time of night; three in the morning isn’t exactly popular when it’s located in one of the roughest areas of the highly populated city. But that’s exactly why she chooses to come at this time; the emptiness, the solidarity, not having to talk to anyone, it brings her comfort during her routines and she  _ knows _ she can handle herself in  _ most _ given situations. 

But what she doesn’t expect is for her usual routine to have a visitor. She can feel the eyes baring holes into her, staring just intensely enough that it’s slowly starting to get on her nerves. She hits the bag one more time, a bit heavier than usual and takes out her earbuds, almost ready to give the creep a peace of her mind. But when her ears are free to listen, she can hear the stranger working out just behind her. She doesn’t have to turn around to know that they’re busy on the weights - she’s familiar with the sound of the metal of the weight sliding onto the pole. 

Her frustration vanishes, leaving her feeling a bit silly that she over exaggerated the situation. Considering she’s working out just in front of them, for all she knows, they could feel just as awkward as she does. She starts to take a bit of breather, still not daring to look behind her, as she stretches out her sore muscles.

“Normally the people who come here at this hour are usually creeps, murders, or someone like me - so which one are you?”

She grins, even if she knows they can’t see it, and hopes that at least opening the floor to conversation will help with the odd, awkward tension that had started to build in the room. She would love to continue her work out tonight and would hate for something like this - something that was definitely her fault for assuming the person was a creep - to put an end to the night. She’s surprised by the low, gravelly snort of laughter from behind her; not expecting to hear someone with such a deep voice.

“Well, I ain’t no creep and I sure ain’t no murderer,” the masculine voice rings out, “So I guess that makes me like you.”

He sounds around her age - or at least she hopes so, at the very least he doesn’t sound like an old man and he’s  _ certainly _ not a kid or a teen just coming out of puberty like some of the wannabe thugs she’s spotted before. She snorts a bit at his answer, knowing that with her luck, he’s actually just some beefcake or steroid shooter. She finishes up her stretches and goes back to bandaging her hands before continuing her routine. 

She doubts he’s anything like her. 

“Like me huh,” she questions, taunting him as she swings a hard kick to the bag, humming a bit in question. “Guess there’s worse things to be.”

  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter One

Her whole body aches, even more so than usual. She rubs the tension in her right shoulder, wincing at the pain that shoots through her arm at the contact. She can feel the bruises already forming, and  _ maybe  _ she would be more concerned if the medic didn’t already clear her. But she got the okay to go into the ring tomorrow night, even after her failure last night. She grits her teeth as she swings her legs over the edge of her bed. Her competitor got a few too many good hits in, and if she wants to have a shot tomorrow night, then she needs to make sure that she’s at a hundred percent.

She stretches deeply when she gets up, ignoring the protesting of her muscles. She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, wincing at the purple spots and scabs beginning to form on her skin. She double checks the amount of cash stored in the jar under the bed, annoyed that it’s still not as high as she’d like it. In the back of her mind, she wonders if she’ll have enough to make her bills this month.  _ New York City isn’t cheap, _ she sighs deeply, rubbing the bridge of her nose. Her eyes soften as she hears a familiar noise, alerting her that she’s not the only one up.  _ I can’t lose again. _

She’s already bemoaning the fact that this means only more training tonight. She hopes that the nanny won’t mind the change of schedule; she’s already been very understanding of her late nights as it is, but her training hours are something else entirely- and it’s something she usually only does on certain days of the week in order to at least  _ try _ to keep a nanny employed. 

Georgia is already up and about by the time Paige reaches her room. The two year old toddler wobbles around giddily, lighting up when she sees her mom in the doorway. Her long hair billows around wildly, tangled up from sleep. Paige softly sighs, knowing that it will be a battle to get undone.

Her daughter opens her arms up, and understanding the signal, Paige sweeps her daughter up off her feet with a flurry of kisses and raspberries. Her child’s innocent giggles and bright smile make up for the pain that starts to set in her bones. 

“How’s my favorite little girl today?” Paige coddles, Georgia tight in her arms, “You’re ready to start the day too, huh?”

Georgia nods excitedly, squirming in Paige’s arms to be let down. The moment her feet hit the floor, she tries- and fails- to open up a drawer of clothes. Paige feels a warmth in her chest at the independence her daughter is showing so early, but wonders if she should feel sadder about the fact that her daughter is growing up so fast - and just how much she hasn’t had a part in it. 

“Alright tough girl, not so fast,” Paige grabs the brush off the dresser and waves it teasingly, “One thing at a time, sweetheart.”

* * *

Raphael watches the clock closely, but the seconds don’t seem to pass by fast enough. He takes another swing at the punching bag, sweat gliding down his scaled skin, but he can’t stop now. Not when he still feels that tight coil built up inside of him, ready to spring - to unleash on  _ something _ . He’s desperate for a fight, and the dummy is barely keeping him entertained; but he’s working on trying to reign his rage in instead of unleashing it on his brothers. 

But  _ fuck _ do they make it hard! All day, Leo can’t get off his shell about something - from sleeping in to avoiding his family. Well, of  _ course _ he’s trying to avoid them. Is it so fucking terrible that he wants some peace, for once? A little time away from his brothers? Some time for himself, that’s all he’s asking for. 

He looks back up at the clock, watching as the hand moves once more. 2:30 am. He sighs, finally giving up on trying to wear himself out enough to sleep. He catches the punching bag as it swings back to him from his last punch, stopping it dead in its tracks. He glances up, debating on whether or not the day will end up any differently if he were to venture up to the surface. 

He could get into gear. The Nightwatcher hasn’t made an appearance in a while. He may have promised Leo that he wouldn’t do it again, but it’s not like he’d be the first to break a promise. He swallows thickly, rolling his shoulders. His fingers twitch, aching to grab the gear and take out his frustration the way he’s used to - the only way he knew growing up. But he knows other ways now, and he reminds himself that his promise to not go out as the Nightwatcher again wasn’t just to Leo, but to all of his brothers and their sensei. 

But he never promised that he wouldn’t sneak out to the surface. Making a decision that he knows Splinter wouldn’t be proud of - not that he would know, of course - he makes his way to the surface under the cover of the shadows, while everyone else is none the wiser. All he has to do is sneak back in before anyone is up, and considering Leo’s tight schedule with wake up calls, he knows exactly when to be back for this to work.

He’s already bored out of his mind, and he’s barely been out for thirty minutes. No Nightwatcher meant that beating up any thugs has to be kept to a minimum; and no one actually seems to be up to anything tonight. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that it was as if the entire criminal world was taking a break. Not even a single sign of the Foot Clan, which is odd in of itself, something that he  _ would _ mention to Leo if it didn’t rat him out for sneaking out in the first place.

But the alleyways and dark corners are clear for tonight, which leaves him restless, bouncing his leg as he perches up on a ledge overlooking the city. There has to be  _ something  _ to do! Scanning the area, he catches a glimpse of a somewhat broken down neon sign. A twenty-four hour gym. The building itself looks bad, but he’s been in worse; and judging from the glimpses he can get of the inside through the windows, the inside is just as shady and dark as the outside. And better than that, it’s  _ empty _ . 

He smirks, knowing that this is  _ definitely _ not something that Leo would approve of, but if he can get in some training tonight, without being in the dojo for once, then the night won’t be a total loss.

It’s comically easy for him to break in, the gym just as empty and dark as he had hoped. The low lights are bright enough for him to see the equipment and to get a general look around, but low enough to provide him coverage. He wonders if the dim lights are just for that - hiding any lone gym-goer from dangerous eyes.

Despite the roughness of the building’s exterior, the worn out mats, and the flickering lights; the equipment is in good shape, with a good variety, which means that the place must get enough business during the day to stay open. Considering the neighborhood, he can only imagine the type of people that do come in. He sports a dangerous grin as he spots a weight set, unable to pass the chance up to have some time for himself. 

He sets it up to just under two hundred pounds, at least to start, and sits down on the bench with a clear view of the doors and windows. He’s just about to start doing his reps when the door silently opens, a woman confidently strolling in. She looks around his age - young and gorgeous, her hair in a messy bun and dressed in a baggy, stained sweatshirt. She has on thin leggings that look like they’re one good stretch away from ripping entirely. The duffle bag over her shoulder looks more like a baby bag than a workout bag.

He tenses, ready to move, but she doesn’t even seem to notice him. He relaxes when he sees the ear buds in her ears, her eyes glued to the punching bag as she makes a beeline straight for it. 

He doesn’t move a single muscle as she starts to settle in, close enough in front of him that he gets too good of a view of her as she begins her stretches. The leggings hug her curves in a way that makes him shift as she bends down in front of him, giving him a clear view of her full rear.

_ Fuck.  _ He swallows thickly, knowing that if he was caught now, he would come off as a creep - if she didn’t run off screaming first. He’s not entirely wrong about the creep part, considering the way his eyes linger on her hips as she twists and turns through her stretching routine. He tells himself that his reaction is due to the lack of female contact, a side effect of being 1) a mutant, and 2) stuck in a lair full of his brothers, and the occasional Casey or April, all of whom are family to him.

He almost considers sneaking off, which seems like the best option, but after saying  _ fuck it _ , he continues his work out once he sees that it doesn’t get her attention. For the most part, he leaves her alone, but occasionally his eyes go toward her for each new thing she does. After wrapping her hands, she starts hitting the punching bag at a set rhythm that feels familiar to him, her breathing quick and trained, set in a stance that makes him want to sit back and watch.  _ She’s not that bad, _ he hums in appreciation as she swings her leg at the bag harshly. Far from the precise movements of him and his brothers, her routine tells him that what she knows, she had to have learned on the street -  _ from experience.  _ She knows what she’s doing, and she definitely knows how to make it hurt. She lands another hard hit, almost making him whistle.  _ Well, I feel bad for the poor motherfucker that runs into her, that’s for sure.  _

He recognizes the frustration in her hits; her brows furrow as her breathing becomes more frantic, not as purposeful. The long sleeves of her sweatshirt hide most of her body, but the neckline creeps down her shoulder enough for him to get glimpses of dark bruises against her skin. His fingers twitch against the weight in his hand. 

Suddenly, she lands the hardest hit of her set before she rips out her earbuds. He can see the way she’s moments away from turning around, from giving him a piece of her mind as if she knew that he was watching her. He curses under his breath, hoping that it’s not loud enough for her to hear, wondering what he did to get caught. It’s too late to run and hide now. He quickly continues with his reps, hoping that the normality of it will cause her to drop her guard. His leg starts to bounce, waiting for it to work, waiting to see if he needs to hide. He doesn’t feel like scaring her - at least, not tonight.

It works. He can see the expression on her face soften, as she mumbles to herself for overreacting. He could beat himself up for staring at her long enough that she noticed, but at least the workout section they’re in doesn’t have any mirrors. She spreads her legs and stretches her arms down toward her toes, evening her breathing as she does. 

“Normally, the people who come here at this hour are usually creeps, murderers, or someone like me - which one are you?”

She’s only absently stretching, as if she’s waiting for his answer; to see if she’s the one who needs to hurry out of here instead of him. Her voice startles him, surprised that she’s even speaking to him at all. Her question makes him snort in amusement, and he catches the glimpse of a smile on her face. He debates if he should even answer, but if he doesn’t, then she might get mad, turn around, and see him. Considering he doesn’t feel like being screamed at by some dame, nor wanting his workout to be ruined, he just laughs - the sound vibrating deeply in the back of his throat.

“Well, I ain’t no creep, and I sure ain’t no murderer,” The masculine voice rings out. “So I guess that makes me like you.”

She snorts as if she doesn’t believe his answer, but he can’t say he blames her. He doesn’t really think that he’s anything like her either, but considering that they’re the only two semi-decent people at a gym, three in the morning in the worst part of town, they at least have that in common.

“Like me, huh?” She questions, taunting him as she swings a hard kick to the bag, humming a bit in question. “Guess there’s worse things to be.”


	3. Chapter Two | NSFW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW Chapter   
> \- Masturbation (jerking off)

The next night Raphael doesn’t see her at the gym, an odd sense of disappointment hits his chest and he swallows it down. It is stupid for him to think that she would be back there; why would she? And why would he think that she would be up for training with him again anyway? What happened the other night was a fluke - a chance encounter unlikely to repeat itself. He should have expected that, he doubts that any girl - human, mutant, or otherwise - would want to spend the night working out with his ugly mug anyway. She doesn’t even have to see it to decide she doesn’t want to hang with him.

He snarls and with the streets emptier than he would like, he heads back down into the sewers where he belongs before any of his brothers wake up and notice his absence. He could spend the night in the dojo like everyone expects him to do, work out the muscles twitching in his arms.

He doesn’t expect Leo to be waiting for him when he drags himself back home. His brother’s silhouette is barely visible against the shadows. 

“What, back so soon?”

Raphael groans, he knows that he should have at least worked out at the gym, even if  _ she _ isn’t there. But  _ no,  _ his angst ass just  _ has _ to come back home. He shoves his way past Leo, “Not tonight, Leo.”

“Okay, how about last night then,” Leo pushes, “You really thought I wouldn’t notice that you were gone. I just didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to sneak back up to the surface two nights in a row.”

“Give it a rest,” Raphael’s teeth are bared in a barely contained snarl, “So what if I went out? Big deal. We’re big kids now, Leo, don’t need you or anyone else telling us what to do.”

“I’m not trying to tell you what to do,” Leo’s voice is strained as his eyes soften, “But it’s my job to make sure everyone in this family is  _ safe _ and I can’t do that if I don’t know where you are.”

Raphael groans, “So what? You want a  _ notice _ next time I sneak out, gee thanks Mom, but you don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

Raphael is already heading out of the dojo, ignoring the way that Leo tries to drag him back into the conversation.  _ Fuck _ , why can’t anything go his way tonight? He did hope, foolishly, that he could talk to that girl again, but now he can’t even burn off his energy in his own fucking dojo?

The door to his room is only mildly slammed shut; enough to get his point across to Leo, but he doesn’t want his other brothers waking up and joining the conversation. He takes off the mask, not even bothering to see where it lands when he tosses it across the small damp room. 

The light bulb in his room flickers, swinging on a chain so low that he has to duck to avoid hitting it. At the very least, his room isn’t as messy as Mikey’s, and with a bed in the far corner and a large hammock, he likes to at least have  _ this _ space to himself. Having far outgrown the bed and preferring the larger more comfortable hammock, he keeps the mattress for the nights where Casey ends up staying with them and on nights where April stays, it’s easy enough to move out to the main area.

He may as well go to bed since it’s obvious that he doesn’t have anything better to do now. He starts to shift uncomfortably, groaning before he finally looks up at the ceiling in defeat. His body aches with pent up aggression with no outlet. His hand absently goes down to his crotch.  _ Well almost no outlet.  _ In a may as well moment, he starts to lazily pump his cock. Masturbation isn’t anything new - and his entire family all have their own ways of giving a heads up so no one walks into anything that can’t be unseen after the incident of Mikey using a pizza slice on his doorknob of all fucking things. But everyone’s asleep now anyway and since Leo hasn’t come in to force the rest of their conversation, he doubts that he will now that it’s been a while.

When staring at the ceiling isn’t enough, his eyes drift close. A thumb grazes against the tip of his cock, coaxing it to get harder in his palm. He has a stash of magazines hidden away for moments like this, but he doesn’t feel like making the trip all the way across the room. Occasionally, he may steal Donnie’s laptop for such an occasion - something they all have the habit of doing every now and then with an unspoken promise to not look at any bookmarked pages or the history.

But his imagination will do for tonight. His pumping starts into a slow rhythm as his mind drifts to something to get him going. It starts off simple enough, but when his hand starts to pump a bit faster, his mind conjures up an image of the girl he met the other night. He can practically see her now - thin, tight leggings hugging every bit of the curves that she tries to hide with that sweatshirt. Her rear end is on full display, delightfully, seemingly teasingly shaking as she bends over right in front of him. He can see the hints of a pantyline that tell him just enough about the type of underwear she wears. 

A part of him should feel bad about this, especially since he doesn’t even have a name, but if he’s not even going to see her again anyway, what’s the harm?

His hand starts to pump faster and his breathing becomes shallow and fast, letting out low groans as he thinks of the way her ass bounces in front of him. He thinks about what it would be like to just rip those leggings off, the thin fabric would be easy, to see her pussy barely hidden by her underwear, teasing him as she shakes her hips.  _ Fuck,  _ he could  _ suffocate _ in that ass and he wouldn’t mind one bit. 

His mind wanders off as he feels the building in his gut. He can feel the precum just oozing out from the head of his cock. He could see his hands encasing her hips, fingers digging into her skin, hard enough to leave bruises in the shape of his hand on her. He would hold that ass to him as tight as he could, eager to close the distance for his cock to ease into her entrance. 

He doesn’t get any further - his release hitting him hard as he spills into his palm.

“ _ Oh shit.” _

* * *

_ “Oh shit.” _

Paige takes another hit - this one harder than the last. She can feel the pain splintering across her cheek and moves her tongue around her jaw to make sure none of her teeth are loose. She squares her feet. She plants her heels into the ground, refusing to fall. Her opponent this night is different. He lacks the usual wannabe gang tattoos and cockiness of most of the guys she’s fought. She doesn’t spot any tattoos on him at all actually, which is a bit of an oddity in of itself. Most of the folks here are inked in purple dragons or some other shit. Instead, he stands in a stance more expected of a martial artist than a street fighter, with a steely gaze barely visible against the cloth mask covering his face.

“Not tonight, motherfucker.”

She’s already lost one fight this week, she will  _ not _ lose another. 

With determination and a yell, Paige feigns a swing to the right. Expecting her, her opponent dodges to the left only for her to swing the other direction. Her hit lands, her opponent getting knocked back. Not giving them the chance to recover, she continues her onslaught. They’re forced to try to protect their face as she aims another hard kick to their head. She turns with a start when they grab her leg before it lands. They twist hard, but she moves with them to land a hit with her other foot, landing gracefully with a twist. When they let go, she aims a hard punch to their throat before a hard swing to the back of their knees finally does them in.

The opponent is left on their knees, gasping for air. She looks to the referee, whose motioning for her to finish the job, a finger sliding across his neck. She makes a face, something turning in her gut. 

The new management is definitely a lot more brutal than the last guy who owned the ring. She hasn’t heard or seen the owner yet, but she’s heard a few rumors.

She looks back toward the opponent, the symbol he had on his uniform is now too covered in dry blood to make it out; she didn’t bother looking at it before, there’s always some guys who come in with ridiculous costumes and uniforms like this is some sort of WWE event. He was pretty intimidating when they first started the fight, but now he looks somewhat pathetic. 

He looks up at her with haunting eyes. As if he knows what she’s supposed to do and has accepted his fate. He’s just waiting for her to finish him off. She swallows thickly and delivers a non-fatal blow to his head to knock him out, while the crowd goes wild, she can see the unsatisfied look on the referee’s face. 

She swings herself out of the ring, taking the bottle of water handed to her by one of the staff. She knows that she should go see a medic, and probably earned herself an entire hospital visit with tonight’s fight, but instead she stands steady as the referee heads straight for her.

“I didn’t sign up to kill someone,” Paige states simply, “The deal was, I come here to fight, people bet, and when I win, I get my part in the earnings. It’s simple, direct, and doesn’t involve overdoing it when they’re already down.”

“The new management doesn’t think that will be enough,” John states, looking as worn as she feels. “He wanted to amp the fights, and he wanted  _ your _ fight to be the first one to set the record straight. You’re one of our best, Miller. If you finished them off, everyone else would fall in line with the new rules pretty nicely,” He pauses for a moment, then continues in a quiet voice, “It’s my head on the line if you don’t follow through.” 

Maybe it’s the blood in her eyes, but when she squints she can see what looks like genuine fear in John’s eyes. He sounds worried, more so than usual, with a quiver in his voice as his eyes are frantically scanning the crowd. What he’s looking for, she’s not sure. When she tries to find out, she doesn’t see anything that stands out immediately. Maybe a few more goons than usual are around, ones that wear the same ridiculous uniform as the guy she beat in the ring. But there’s nothing odd about a new gang coming in hoping that at least one of their guys will win.

“You’re being dramatic,” Paige rolls off his concern, a bit more worried to find out if she busted a rib rather than John’s employment. “You’ve done this for what, twenty years now? You’ll be fine, Johnny. Who knows? Since I didn’t make the kill, maybe new management will change their mind.”

“I don’t know,” John drawls out with uncertainty, “He doesn’t seem the usual type.”

“What type does he seem like,” Paige raises an eyebrow questionably, but John doesn’t answer her - instead, he seems to settle on leaving their conversation unfinished as he hurries off, looking over his shoulder often. 


End file.
